


The Gorilla club

by Shameless_Cutie



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24059380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shameless_Cutie/pseuds/Shameless_Cutie
Summary: AU. 1998. Murdoc and Russel are business partners in a semi-popular club in New York. They are hurting for good musicians. Stuart might be the one to save the club from falling into debt, but can the boy handle the underground fame he didn't ask for?
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	1. Big Gorilla, small pond.

The music could almost be seen vibrating through the haze. Murdoc Niccals contributed to their cloud, letting a thick plume escape him with a sigh. His red eyes blinked only occasionally, his entire body lived in slow motion. On stage an older performer sang something with high energy, with a delicious bass line but no passion. Murdoc’s fingers twitched in rhythm, playing a ghost bass guitar sitting in his lap. Deep in his lungs he hummed along with the words, the sound akin to a crow’s cry but with a deep melancholy. The performer finished their song, and the guitarist and bass player both gave a wave before the three exited, followed by a mute applause. For the most part everyone here was more focused on their own gambling and drinks. This was Murdoc’s favorite place. Bright purple and red neon highlighted the rim of his beer bottle, making it look like something straight out of a dream. He took another toke. To his left was a glass wall that stood about six feet. It had been hand painted years ago with psychedelic animals and make believe gods. Through the frosted glass, he could see the shadows of performers as they mounted and left the stage. For the most part, going onto the stage with the same slow acceptance as when they left, receiving little in the way of praise. Nobody came here for the music in particular. The performers played the same popular songs on repeat, so there were no surprises. The only time that performers left with whistles and praise was when it was a saturday night and they were leaving with nothing but their underwear on, tits exposed. 

With swaying hips and shorts that cut off halfway across her buttox, a young woman stopped and placed another beer on Murdoc’s table. He pointed at her with a limp wrist as a response, sliding back into his comfy leather chair. The club’s hum almost put him to sleep. 

His gaze focused on a large figure standing by the bar, their baseball cap covering a bald head, and tshirt hanging down low over baggy jeans. That was Russel Hobbs. His dark skin reflected the purple lighting in a way that made him feel like a part of the architecture. This made sense, it was his club. Started with the last of Murdoc’s money, however. So he would die with the argument that in reality, it was HIS club. It had not paid itself back yet, and they were reaching the point where they would find themselves in debt if the summer did not bring in tourists. The company was charmingly sleazy and the drinks were the kind that put you in a good mood, but the performers were lackluster. Aside from their cult of local punks and hipsters, and a shiny spattering of old rockers who were nostalgic, they were not well known in New York. 

With his head hanging over the back of his comfy chair, he placed the cigarette back between his lips, watching carefully and trying to figure out who his partner in business was talking to. The Brooklyn native gestured with large hands at a tall, thin figure who looked like a newborn giraffe who’d plopped themselves down in the lion’s den. He flinched at every studded jacket and tripped over the laces to his converse. He wore a thick beanie, and Murdoc could just see a few sprigs of hair at the nape of his neck. Murdoc laughed, a good belly laugh, when the bartender offered him a cup of orange juice. He clucked his tongue in mock pitty. 

“Poor sod…” 

Russel put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and pointed him towards the door to the ramp that led to the stage. This is when Murdoc really laughed. He sat up on his knees in the chair. 

“OI! Russ! Got a comedy bit for us, eh?” He teased, a dark laugh emitting from him when the gangly teen lowered his head like a kicked dog and escaped into the door with his tail between his legs. Russel fixed his hat so he could see, and snorted in Murdoc’s direction. He left the bar to walk over to Murdoc's table and leaned over on it. 

“Don’t be an ass, man.” Russel warned, his hulking shoulders blocking most of Murdoc’s view. “We’re hurting for singers. He waved me down in the courtyard at school, said he wanted to sing. I didn’t have to pay him much or nothin’.” His drawl was relaxed, a soft snicker behind every word as they escaped his sharp teeth.

Murdoc sighed again, shaking his head and giving Russel a good natured smirk. 

“Just warming him up to the idea of being booed off stage.” He waved him away. “Move, I still want to watch.” 

Russel leaned against the glass wall. Murdoc watched with a cocked head as the shadow of the teen slipped past and up to the stage. 

The teen re-surfaced on the stage, pushing a keyboard into the middle of the spotlight. Here he looked up, blocking the light out of his eyes with a calloused hand. Murdoc got a good look at his face. 

His eyes were dark rimmed and his eyebrows were thick and expressive. His being down to the loose posture was that of contempt and anger, almost a 180 from how he carried himself just a few moments ago. It might just have been the spotlight in his eyes making him glare though, Murdoc thought. His face was handsome enough. If he could sing Murdoc supposed he’d be leaving with a leather clad girl tonight. The teen pulled off their beanie and tucked it halfway into his back pocket, and Murdoc nearly dropped his cigarette. 

He could only liken it to a fairy or an angel, or maybe even a zombie. His hair was an electric blue, and it hung down to frame his face as well as stuck up in the back. He ran his fingers over it, but it did not want to be tamed. As he pulled down the microphone, Murdoc could see the full picture. His whole aesthetic. The slender, square hips on top of long legs, wide palms and a lucid scowl, and blue hair. 

“Wooow…” Murdoc mused with a tipsy giggle. “Very pretty.” 

The teen tested the microphone by tapping on it, then he began to play. The tune he plucked out was not one that Murdoc had heard before. He was setting himself up for failure if he thought his debut here at The Gorilla should be his own song. That being said, the sound was pleasant enough. The kid knew how to write a good tune, at least. It sounded like a sad lullaby. Then he parted his lips, and began to sing. 

  


“ When you're smoking tenfold in the morning

It's gonna be a cold day

When you're keeping everything inside you

It can only hurt you” 

  


The sound of his voice rolled over Murdoc, made his hand shaky as he plucked the cigarette from his lips to gasp. He was in a state of awe and disbelief for the duration of the song. He was only allowed a moment to escape to his bottle in the pause before he started his next song. The next song was more pop-y, with an electric tone rather than the music box sound. 

Russel sat down across from Murdoc, his own eyes wide along with a toothy grin. 

“Damn. I have to say he’s pretty good, man.” He drummed his hand against the table in time with the drum cycle that had already been programmed into the keyboard. Murdoc’s expression became darker and darker, more serious with each song. His cigarette burned itself down to ash as he ignored it, the soot landing on his jeans and staining them. 

He performed five songs, and he switched off the keyboard. His dopey expression returned when he looked down at the bodies at the bars and tables, and they cheered. The clapping was not long, but this was a badge of honor to get the attention of a sea of lethargic punks. 

“Hello.” The teen croaned into the microphone. “I’m Stuart Pot and I play keyboards and sing. Thank you for ‘aving me tonight.” The cockney accent hit the crowd like a truck. The angel spoke like a country bum. However, this might have been a part of the appeal. He received a lowered applause as he left the stage, and the regular chatter returned. Russel stood to go congratulate him, and Murdoc followed. 

Stuart opened the door to the ramp and peeked outside shyly. He closed the door behind him and replaced the cap on his head, tucking away the deep blue locks under it. His dark eyes looked forward stupidly, not sure what to do with himself next until Russel showed up. He embarrassed when he saw Murdoc was with him. 

“That was killer!” Russel lifted a fist to offer a fist bump, which was taken with a numb little smile and a very weak bump. “What department did you say you were?” 

“Oh I uh-” Stuart sputtered. “My Mum sent me over ‘ere to study business, but I’m taking a minor in music theory. We should ‘ave some classes together I ‘spose.” He grinned, displaying his teeth, or lack thereof. His two front teeth had been knocked out. Again, Murdoc found himself adding it to his appeal. 

He held out his hand towards Stuart. “Hello. I’m Murdoc Niccals. It’s good to see someone else who’s from over the pond. Where are you from?” Stuart returned the shake firmly, that having been something the teen must have practiced. Murdoc stuck his hands in his jacket pockets after the polite shake. 

“Niccals.” Stuart tested out the sound, then grinned. “Oh, I’m from Crawley. What about you?” 

“Aoohhh- Some stinkhole, It doesn’t matter, Can I buy you a drink?” Murdoc deflected the question, putting a hand around Stuart’s shoulder to turn him towards the bar. He pushed him forward and encouraged him to sit at one of the stools. “You really do have a special voice. What do you think about coming back?” 

Russel followed, sitting on Stuart’s left, Murdoc pinning him in on the right. 

“I uh, I can’t drink ‘ere.” Stuart bit his lip. “I’m 19, Can’t drink ‘ere until you’re 21, right?” 

Murdoc clicked his tongue, shrugging. “Aww, it’s alright. My club, my rules.” He waved down the pretty bartender and ordered two glasses of hard cider. “Russel doesn’t have a problem, does he?” 

“I thought this was your club, Russel?” Stuart questioned, not really fighting back against the drink in his hands. As long as he wasn’t going to get in trouble for it he didn’t really seem opposed to breaking the rules. Murdoc liked that. 

“It’s OUR club. I put it together, but Murdoc is the one who helped me with the money.” Russel sighed, leaning against the bar and ordering a beer. “Just don’t tell anyone he gave you that.” 

“Right.” Stuart piped happily, taking a drink. He kicked his feet up onto the rungs of the bar stool. “Sorry though, I’ve got a job. I can’t really come back any time soon.” 

“How much are they paying you?” Murdoc asked, almost accusingly. It caused Stuart to jump in his stool. His eyes were darkly serious under his fringe. 

“Ah- about six dollars an ‘our.” He ran his finger around the rim of his glass, to distract himself from Murdoc’s glare. “I go there after school every day, but tonight I asked special for the day off, ah, Mr.Niccals.” 

Murdoc couldn’t deny the pang in his chest at the timid way he muttered his name. He couldn't let this one get away. He gave Russel a look, and he responded with a nod of understanding. 

“How much did Russel pay you to be here tonight?” 

“F-Fifty dollars, Mr.Nichols.” A shiver. 

“Three hundred.” Murdoc slammed his cup against the bar. “If you come back, we’ll pay you three hundred for each performance.” 

“Are you serious?” Stuart’s eyes widened, and he stood up. Russel was apparently not on the same page, because he also stood and looked furious. “Would you really pay me that much to sing ‘ere?!” 

Murdoc pretended not to see Russel’s red face. “Of course, boy.” He smiled and opened his arms wide in a sincere gesture. “I want your arse to be here at least once a week. We’ll have to get you a propper band though. But you can leave that to Russ and me.” 

The open arms was not an invitation to hug, but Stuart took it anyway. He wrapped his arms around Murdoc’s neck and held him tight for a moment. Murdoc was too shocked to push him away, and then he heard a buzzing in his ear. 

“Thank you Mr.Nichols, I’ll definitely come back I- Oh my alarm.” The teen let go to touch a button on his wrist watch. “I ‘ave to make sure I don’t miss the bus. Thanks again.” He picked up his glass and quickly downed the contents. 

“Russel can get you caught up on the details tomorrow during classes, yeah?” Murdoc grinned at Russel, who responded with a low, “Yeah, Sure.” 

Stuart waved as he bolted out the door. 

And then there was a pause. 

“What the hell was that, Mudrdoc?” Russel growled lowly. “Three hundred a week? We can’t afford that!” He slammed his fist against the bar. “You will be paying him out of your pocket, ya hear?” His large accusing finger didn’t wipe the smile from Murdoc’s face. 

“Alright.” Murdoc gently pushed his hand away, and threw his head back to finish his cider. “Not a problem. I’ll take care of it. I have faith that the kid can bring more people into this place. We have to guarantee that he’ll be exclusive to us. We can’t have any other place snatching him up and away from us.” 

Russel sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he looked out into his club. 

“You better be right. I actually really want you to be right.” 

  


  



	2. The band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry about the wait! Chapters will come much quicker after this. Hope you enjoy. <3

Murdoc’s reading glasses had sweat grime in the corners, and scratches on the lenses. Between his fingers, he flipped through yellowing papers. Handwritten bars and lyrics were packed onto the pages. Sparks of inspiration and tunes that he had mulled over once upon a time. His old bass, “El Diablo.” sat in it’s stand across the way. This office was small, and rarely used. He could hear the DJ playing some boyband garbage downstairs, and the stomping of feet. No live performers tonight, which gave Murdoc some time to hunt for his old music. He sat in the squeaky office chair, pulling it forcefully along since the wheels had rusted to a stop. 

His knobby fingers gently plucked one of the strings. 

“Twang.” He hummed along, a sharp smile “Welcome back to the land of the living baby. I’ll get you some nice new heavy gauge strings, and a polish.” He lifted the instrument and laid it on his lap, and gave it another pluck. By ear, he tuned each of the four dull strings. It rumbled for him as he fingered out a simple pattern. His shoulders shook with each crow's caw of a laugh that left him. 

The office door opened, letting in a flood of noise, and was quickly plugged back up by Russel Hobbs. He set down a heavy machine onto the table, and both of them could hear one of the legs crack under the weight. Papers went flying like birds in the wake of the huge alien machine. 

“It’s not done, but this is my little treasure.” Russel puffed out his chest proudly and patted the top of the machine. He turned one of the dials, looking it over to make sure he hadn’t damaged it while carrying it over here. “We’ll be able to make loads of great sounds with this. I think Stuart will get a kick out of it too.” He spoke breathlessly, pausing to breathe between words. 

“Nice.” Murdoc stood up with his bass, reaching over to hand him the sheets of paper. “I found these too. I think I was about your age when I started them.” He admired the drum machine on the desk as he spoke, looking a lot like he was ogling a pretty girl. “Never really landed a band long enough to bring them to life though.” 

“Stu’ll be here soon.” Russel replied as he flipped through the papers. “You wanna go wave him down? I need to get some shit organized up here. This is embarrassing.” 

Murdoc sat El Diablo back in it’s stand, and pulled his jacket from the back of the old office chair. He had to calm the little flutter he felt in his chest, but it didn’t stop him from walking quickly out the door. 

  


\---

Stuart strained his back like a cat, his spine popping audibly. His jagged teeth on display as he gave a big yawn. He sat with his hands in his lap, his backpack leaning against the rungs of the barstool. He watched lazily as people filtered in and out of the club, some dancing, some drinking. He could see smoke collecting on the ceiling, and wondered briefly if that was legal. He could feel his own carton poking into his butt through his back pocket. His hat was pressed tight onto his head, hiding the azure hair. 

He was about to turn around and ask for a glass of something bubbly, when he caught Murdoc stepping out of the door to the ramp. He hopped down from the bar stool, and scooped up his backpack, throwing one strap of it over his shoulder. He raised a hand high in the air to catch his attention. The man saw him, and waved back, gesturing to him to come to the door. 

The two of them escaped from the noise into the ramp. There was a run down door that led up to the office. No neon lights to hide peeling paint or chewed up flooring. Nothing about the atmosphere seemed to reach Stuart, who’s giddy pace caused him to almost step on the back of Murdoc’s heels more than once. 

“I brought my melodica.” Stuart chirped, sliding his backpack off his shoulder to hold the bag to his chest. “I’m real excited ta’ make music with you. Rusk is amazing at the drums, and-uh.” Stuart’s tone was popcorned by excitement and timidity. They paused at the office door. Murdoc, with one hand on the knob, looked back at Stuart with a raised eyebrow. “And, ‘e gave me a tape. Of you. With your old band, uh, The album was called ‘We split up.’ Not the best name, but your bass playing is amazing.” 

“It was meant to spark thought.” Murdoc pointed a crooked finger at Stuart’s nose, opening the door. “Yaknow, like a twist. For interest… Didn’t spark enough I guess.” 

As soon as Stuart saw Russel, he was instantly distracted from the current conversation. 

“ ‘ello Rusk!” He greeted. 

Russel had a hip-hop rhythm playing through the drum machine, his thick fingers tapping on the side of the machine in perfect time. His grin was wide and looked similar to Myozaki’s Totoro. He gave Stuart a small salute as a returned hello. The teen in the beenie began to dance a little to the rhythm as he found a place to keep his backpack. 

“Sounds good! So, what comes first?” Stuart happily readied his melodica, improvising a simple four note tune to the beat. Nothing too complicated, but it did cause Murdoc and Russel to pause for a moment. The grizzled rocker waved something away from the side of his head, a fly or maybe an intrusive thought. 

“How are you going to sing with that in your mouth?” He criticized as he lifted the bass and slipped it’s strap around his neck. “I don’t think a melodica is going to get any girls to fancy you.” 

“I’d fancy a bloke who could play melodica.” Stuart shrugged, laughing a little to himself as he set the instrument down on the desk. “But I’ll save it for another time. What do you want me to sing?”

Russel handed him a sheet from Murdoc’s stack of songs. He pointed at the words written at the top. “I need Murdoc to play his line for this piece, but I think what I got for drums is about right. Try singing that part.” He leaned back against the desk, and handed Murdoc the sheet that had the related tabs for the bass. Murdoc glanced over it, then set it down. The bass hummed as he warmed it up. It wasn’t connected to it’s amp, but the muted sound still carried. 

Stuart hoisted himself up to sit on a filing cabinet, and read over the scribbled lyrics. A somber expression grew on his face, and he cleared his throat. A nod from Murdoc signaled him to start. His lips parted and he sang. 

“Everybody's here with me

Got no camera to see

Don't think I'm all in this world

The camera won't let me roll

And the verdict doesn't love our soul

The digital won't let me go.

Hmm-Hmm-Hmmm

I Believe

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow Comes today.” 

He kept in time, but sometimes the words left him in parts from trying to read and sing at the same time. This hardly mattered. His first attempt at the song with the loose title, “Tomorrow.” was dripping with soul. He finished by humming along with the final part of Murdoc’s plucking. Murdoc’s eyes were focused heavily on Stuart’s expression as he sang, wondering hopefully that maybe he could understand the delicate meaning behind the words he had written. As Stuart reached the end of the written material, Russel turned off the machine. 

“That’s almost right.” Stuart seemed pleased with what he had heard as he set the music down and looked through the rest of the stack. He carefully fingered through each sheet as if he were looking through David Bowie’s own music journal, carefully reading over every word. 

Murdoc plucked out the same tune again, adjusting the timing slightly, editing it to follow more closely to how Stuart had interpreted the words. He sat down in the squeaky chair, a confident smile finding him. 

“Now… I know my skill is undeniable when it comes to writing music, but all of it needs a good look over.” He picked up the sheet with ‘Tomorrow’s” tabs, and jotted down the changes he was making at the moment. He stuck his thumbnail in the corner of his mouth as he pondered the title. Not punchy enough, he decided, and wrote, “comes today” next to the existing title. 

“We’re still missing something.” Russel grumbled as he lifted the drum machine and set it down on a wooden crate. “We sound good, but we need a guitarist to tie us all together.” The club owners were again frozen by Stuart’s sudden flare of excitement. He placed both hands on the desk and hopped in place, almost like a toddler who had to use the little boy’s room. 

“Oh! I know a guitarist. She’s real good.” He nearly giggled. 

“Who would that be?” Murdoc asked suspiciously. 

“My Girlfriend.” He announced. 

Murdoc smiled, but he felt his crude little heart crack. 

  


  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is being put on hold for a while. Don't expect updates. :( Sorry if this is disappointing to anyone.

Story is being put on hold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is being put on hold for a while. Don't expect updates. :( Sorry if this is disappointing to anyone.

Story is being put on hold.

**Author's Note:**

> This was vaguely inspired by a documentary I watched about the Moulin Rouge. Just vaguely. I really just love young and dumb Stuart, with how earnest and excitable he was. This is going to be relatively short, unless if I get carried away. Expect sex and drug use in later chapters too. Thanks for reading, remember to Comment. <3


End file.
